The DC Women’s March: A Perspective From the Ground
“I love America more than any other country in the world and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”
― James Baldwin
The Women’s March on DC was the most crowded event I have ever been in the middle of, and possibly ever will be. The number of people packed onto the National Mall — a sweeping space, miles long — was far beyond what I anticipated. From the Mall, pink pussyhats spilled out into the surrounding streets and museums, and were visible from rooftops and windows throughout the city. The event planners’ original crowd estimate for their permit had a 200,000 person maximum. Estimates for the actual day have it at as many as three times that figure.
My girlfriend and I arrived at 10 AM, before the largest part of the crowd arrived, when there was still breathing-room on the Mall itself. Working towards the American Indian Museum, where the rally stage was set up with a set of speakers, the crowd quickly became more dense as waves of protesters spilled through the open gates from the previous day’s inauguration ceremony. We spent the better part of three hours trying to meet up with a group of friends from out of town, a task we soon realized would be impossible. We also missed all of the days speakers, never once managing to be even in earshot of the stage.
After moving from the south end of the Mall, to the north end, to the south end again, to the north end again, wading shoulder-to-shoulder and back-to-face though the sea of pink, we eventually were swept into a current marching down Madison Drive — a full half hour before the scheduled march was supposed to step off, and on the opposite side of the Mall from the planned route. The poor event volunteers were a rare sight and extremely overwhelmed; often, they had no communication with any central authority. Apparently the route of the march itself had to be changed due to the sheer number of people, but we only heard about the change after. On the ground, it was bedlam.
Eventually, our stream of marchers converged with the main march near the African American History Museum on Constitution Avenue, where there was a logjam of protesters that lasted nearly forty minutes. Other similar marcher-capillaries met with the main march at several different intersections, from all directions. The march eventually pooled at the South Lawn of the White House, where some — myself included — wearily wandered home, while most stayed for a number of hours.
Now, let me say this: for all the chaos and disorganization, I was pleasantly amazed at the civility of the crowd, and the friendliness of everyone I met. There were not enough police or National Guardsmen on the ground, period — the district seemed to be vastly unprepared for what transpired. But such authorities also did not seem necessary. As packed as it was, there was no pushing, no fighting, and time and time again I witnessed total strangers help each other carry something heavy, or watch another’s step. It feels good to know that, even today, events like the Women’s march can transpire without metal detectors or battalions of riot police.
Make no mistake: this was a march for women, but it was also a march in reaction to Donald Trump. Really, it was a natural reaction; after years of being told we were on the verge of the first woman president, President Trump was an extremely jarring reality. That said, I found the Women’s March on Saturday to be much more appropriate than those the previous day. Those that took place on Inauguration Day had too much of an anarchist flavor to them, seeming to question our system of government, and undermining the peaceful transfer of power we too often taken for granted. The Women’s March, in contrast, was a powerful expression of values and unity crucial to our democratic process. For all the protesters across the district that day, there were zero arrests; a fine example for future generations.
My own views were often more nuanced than, and occasionally antithetical to, some of those I read on the many signs. Some I found too vulgar, but most were just hilarious. In the past I have called for Donald Trump to be given a fair chance, although it is something I find increasingly hard to do. Indeed, as it relates to the Women’s March, our president’s past record with women is very clear, and undeniably distasteful. Women have just as much a right and reason to be anxious about President Trump as industrial workers in the midwest have to be for our shifting economy — perhaps even more so. For those that question either side, remember the rights of the other.
I will end with this: I believe the Women’s March was a fantastic, cathartic, noble expression of values, and I am proud to have been present at such a historic event. I also believe that the biggest threats Donald Trump poses to our republic are not his policies and philosophies, where he is more than willing to shape-shift and deal, but his complete lack of decency, civility, and respect for the process. While yesterday’s march was remarkable, protests are not always the best way to reinforce these values into our society. If you want to make a real difference, be willing to put down your sign, identify a community you love, raise your children well, run for local government, volunteer, coach, befriend someone who disagrees with your political views, and tip food servers well. “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
